seasons feel just like home

i knock on the wall

and i hear old summer songs.

still there like they will never leave this house.

i trace the window pane

and i feel the frost soft and watching

because autumn has already come to visit with her stories.

i hear the heater turn on

and the smell tells me i'm eight years old,

barefoot and fighting with an old stick and a winter grin.

i change the light bulb

and spring sits with her sweet laughter.

she is warm and bright and there exactly when you need her.

but even with these things

it doesn't quite feel like home

until your laughter, combined with mine, echoes through the halls.

come home?

x

one last post before december sweeps november away.